Almost Lover
by high.fiving.jesus
Summary: "You could stay with me, Percy." No war. No prophecy. What if Percy had stayed with Calypso?
1. Chapter 1

_**~Almost Lover~**_

**Written by: High Fiving Jesus**

**Based on: the song **_**Almost Lover**_** and the story 'Too Far Gone' by **_**The Heartless Harlot**_

**Typed: Sunday, August 29, 2010— Monday, August 30, 2010**

**~xx—o—xx~**

"But… I'm just… I mean, I'm just _me_."

"That is enough," she promised. "I told myself I would not even speak of this. I would let you go without even offering. But I can't. I suppose the Fates knew that, too. You could stay with me, Percy. I'm afraid that is the only way you could help me."

He stared at the horizon where the first red streaks of dawn were lightening the sky. He could just disappear from Earth, forever with her and the invisible servants tending to his every need. They could live under perfect blue skies and grow moonlace flowers. No war. No prophecy. No more taking sides.

"I'd like that," he told her.

She looked up bewildered and excited. "Do you mean…" she had a curious tone.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, "and my friends don't _need_ me. I have faith in them."

"But they also have the same faith in you," she whispered. Her face dropped and she picked a sprig of moonlace. Its silver glow dimmed as sunlight danced across the island.

Percy stared at the horizon and Calypso touched the flowers to her lips. _Daybreak is a good time for decisions,_ Hephaestus had said.

"I'm staying," he said with a finality that caused Calypso to turn to him and quickly kiss his cheek. Her face flushed red and she gracefully ran back to the cave, disappearing behind a billowing silver curtain.

**_xx—o—xx~xx—o—xx~xx—o—xx_**

Annabeth brushed her hair out of her face, forcing herself to stop. My best friend, she thought. He's gone. She stood up from her bunk and grabbed the sea green shroud. A beautiful trident blazed on the front. With the windows open it gently flowed, hiding and then revealing the image.

She folded it gently, taking care not to touch the ground out of respect. She watched campers trudging towards the amphitheater. Some of the campers were still standing in awkward, bean-shaped circles just praying to their parents that Percy was going to return. A small part of her started to think it was pointless, but she couldn't lose hope. Not now. They had come so far.

The Ares cabin practically trampled the others under foot, trying to get to the amphitheater as fast as they could. They were finally enjoying themselves. It made her sick but she wasn't prepared to fight all of them. That logic was undeniable. She was a wreck.

Annabeth hugged the shroud to her chest and, for the first time, she set her knife down on the bedside table and didn't even think of bringing it to the funeral. She just couldn't and she didn't know why.

She made her way there, following the flow of the crowd. They would glance at Annabeth or others that were close to Percy and would turn their attention to the ground. A young girl of about nine was so focused on watching her fiddle with the shroud that she ran into a tree. Her older brother looked down at her and bent over to talk to her. She rubbed her head with her free hand and tugged on his arm, trying to run towards the theater.

The daughter of Athena stared blankly after her and thought about how old she had been when she had gotten there. Annabeth had been there since she was seven, and had seen so little. Percy had gotten there when he was twelve and had seen so much that it killed him. It killed her.

She knew she shouldn't have gone. A horde of telekhines and one son of Poseidon—the odds were slim. What was she thinking? If she had only not been so lenient and been more stubborn. She felt responsible for whatever had happened. An explosion. A terrible way to go.

She met Chiron's gaze as soon as she stepped within the walls and a terrible realization struck her. He trotted towards her calmly and looked down at the shroud.

"Annabeth, my dear," he said. "I'd like you to burn the shroud. It's very beautiful." He added, almost keeping her distracted with any positive he could find.

Annabeth stared up at him. Burning the shroud was the last straw. Everything became real in that moment. Percy was dead, or so they thought. He wasn't coming back. She looked around at everyone huddling inside, whispering or standing boldly or laughing and joking—this was only from the Ares cabin. She couldn't do that in front of all of those people. Tears were already stinging her eyes.

"Sure…of course," Annabeth told him. She pulled back her emotions and smiled weakly. Chiron gave her the same grin and looked back, starting towards the front of the crowd slowly.

A long rectangular fire pit had been placed, for the possibility of a body also being burned with the shroud in a rare case.

"Heroes! For those who know about Percy's disappearance…" he paused, choosing a more direct route. "We must assume he is dead. After so long a silence, it is unlikely our prayers will be answered. I have asked his best surviving friend to do the final honors."

Annabeth stopped for a moment. What about Grover? He couldn't be gone also. Two of them gone was too much. Annabeth paused before her ADHD mind took off on a new course. She snapped the shroud and laid it flat. She lit in on fire and stared at the flames. Percy's smiling face flickered and dispersed at an obnoxious crackle as the embroidered trident symbol burned. She narrowed her eyes but looked away before breaking in the midst of her fellow half-bloods.

Some of the faces seemed to say, _what gave her the right to believe she was the only one that cared?_

She swallowed, trying to hollow out her throat and looked at everyone. "He was probably the bravest friend I've ever had. He…" She looked toward the empty doorway and could almost see a clouded image of him. He leaned against the wall with a sincere smirk and waved shortly. The image dissolved and she found herself stepping towards his shadowy image. "…was… amazing and loyal. And too… nice." She gave a long speech, trying to hide the obvious feelings, but still remaining sincere. There were sniffles occasionally and Annabeth would pause to watch the blue flames licking up the sheet. She wanted so much to conclude with an 'I loved him' or something that would appear more real and true but she couldn't get the words out.

Before anyone could think, she glanced at Chiron, wiped at her eyes and bolted towards the door.

She stayed, locked away in her cabin or training or ruining her eyes by staying up late at night, throwing herself into her work on Daedalus's laptop.

**~xx—o—xx~**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians; no copyright intended. All rights go to Rick Riordan and his publisher, editor, the children that helped him, his inspiring ADHD and dyslexic prone son, etc. Woo.**


	2. Chapter 2

Percy sat on the beach of Ogygia for what seemed like the thousandth time, not actually knowing how often he did sit there and think. Or wait.

What he was waiting for, he wasn't sure. Was the Titan war over? Would the gods send a signal? A better question ran through his mind. _Could_ they send a signal? Had his friends survived? Was there anything left of Manhattan, his mom, Annabeth?

A proud form stooped down and scooped up the soft, warm sand and allowed it to run through her fingers. Percy glanced up at her, expecting blonde curls and startling grey eyes, only to be met by the face of Calypso.

"Hello, my hero," she told him and smiled. She gracefully sat down beside him, which Percy found impossible since he had fallen down on the ground in a flurry of sand just to watch the waves.

Percy cracked a small grin and turned back to the mystic waters, lapping against the shoreline vibrantly. He had waited on the beach every day, hoping his father would pop in just to visit. Of course it never happened. Poseidon might've been fighting two wars, or he was rotting in Tartarus. It was the worst possibility. Percy shuddered as Calypso laid her hand on his shoulder. She didn't say anything, but she felt compelled to let him know that she was still real.

"How long?" He whispered, feeling slightly rude for asking.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Percy shook his head and just watched the sky touchdown on the waterline and rock it back and forth, soothing the seas. His mind once again wandered to his dad.

"How long have I been here?" he asked again, more clearly.

Calypso frowned for a moment. "I have told you, I cannot tell. There's no way to know for sure. Time is different here."

"Are the gods… gone?" he inquired again, this time turning to face her. He watched her eyes shift.

"I am unsure. My father," she started.

"Atlas," he reminded himself.

She nodded. "Correct. Well, he may come to free me or he will hate me for deciding to befriend the Olympians. That is—if they lost."

Percy knew she was right. Atlas would've come to curse her or free her from this prison if they had won. He couldn't have been there that long. A god would visit soon, no doubt.

On cue, a shadowed form hovered over the waters, traveling at humanly impossible speeds. It began to shimmer and change, flexing its muscles to reveal a composed woman with brown locks and antagonizing grey eyes. Percy bowed his head.

Athena acknowledged him for a moment and looked at Calypso. "May I speak with you? _Alone_?" she gave Percy a pointed look and stared back at Calypso.

The younger girl stood up and walked respectfully with the goddess up toward the grotto. They remained silent as they walked, not wanting to have any curious ears picking up on their conversation. Percy relaxed back in the sand, suddenly not interested in what the gods were doing.

Calypso offered what she could to the goddess, not sure what the sudden appearance was about.

"I am here to collect Percy," Athena told her blatantly. Calypso's eyes widened and she shook her head.

"My lady?" she asked, staying composed. "It was his decision, was it not?"

Athena begrudgingly nodded. "Yes, it was. Until he chose incorrectly. He was not abandoned here so that he could start any life with you. He cannot afford to stay here. It has already been over two weeks. He must come home."

Calypso stared at the ground. "No, milady. That was not part of the agreement. He _chose_ to stay. I will not give him up."

"You are not thinking about the consequences. This is one hero we cannot, unfortunately, afford to lose," Athena reasoned. "He is a hero of the Great Prophecy."

"He was put here—"

"Because the Fates have decided to punish you," Athena finished. "You know as well as I that he cannot stay here and just wait out the war. He will eventually have to fight. He cannot be a coward."

"No," Calypso said. "He was given a choice that would affect only his life."

"He has not spoken of my daughter," Athena reasoned.

Calypso didn't look pleased or disappointed. Or like she even cared. Her face was as blank as a book without the words. The words didn't seem to process through her head. She swallowed hard and played with her braid. "Annabeth?" to which Athena responded with a nod.

"So he has," she concluded.

"Once. In his sleep," she told Athena.

Athena looked ready to let her know from the get-go the tasks they had accomplished together. Calypso waited and studied the goddess as she thought to herself. A wind rustled through the cave and blew the sheets.

"Lady Athena?"

"It is nothing," she reassured. "I will come back for his final answer in a week's time. Please think about what you are allowing to happen to the outside world."

And she vanished.

**That was a short, rushed, unplanned chapter that I wrote at one o'clock in the morning, just trying to get it out there.**


	3. Chapter 3

Calypso wandered back to the shore to sit next to Percy and felt her eyes drifting out to the sea. She deserved Percy; she had done nothing wrong. But was her world worth all of the chaos of the other two? Was Ogygia any better than Earth? Quite honestly, yes. It was. But what about the good mortals and the gods who had befriended her?

Athena made her way to the shore and stepped out on the water, evaporating into a cloud of grey sand that blew away across the sea and towards the sun. She passed across a bordering point, into a continuum between time and space. With a quick flash, she was soaring through the sky of the mortal world, making way to Olympus, where she would report the deal she had made.

Percy glanced at Calypso from the ground and contemplated sitting up. But the way she looked when she met his eyes made him want to stay down and be trapped on Ogygia just to comfort her. "What? What did she want?"

Calypso ignored the question. "Percy… tell me about her."

"Athena?" he asked, sitting up a little more.

Calypso shook her head calmly and pulled her braid back over her shoulder to tug on it. "The daughter," she said, avoiding the name incase it did in fact mean something to him.

He sat silently, understanding what she was asking. She wanted to know about his and Annabeth's relationship. He didn't have an answer. Especially not one she wanted.

"I don't know about me and Annabeth," he told her truthfully. "She's my best friend, I guess."

"You miss her?" Calypso asked him earnestly, trying to avoid touching the subject roughly, only holding it with delicate hands.

Percy thought about it, and the more he did, the more he imagined her and their quests, the more he realized that it almost hurt his heart to not be near her. "Well, yeah. Sometimes. Like I said, we're best friends."

"I do not think you are telling the truth, hero," Calypso told him.

"Of course I am," he protested.

The water's stirred around each other, creating little eddies. He scooted forward and stuck both of his bare feet in the water. Calypso sat completely still with her hands in her lap, like a young and very proper lady would do at a ball. Percy thought it odd that she was so formal around him, when he was so casual.

"She visits your dreams," Calypso told him quietly, with a sad smile on her face.

Percy's head whipped around to her. "What?"

"You speak while you rest," she explained. "And you drool." He thought about Annabeth saying that his first day awake at camp and he blushed. Calypso took this as embarrassment and laughed goodheartedly.

"I don't drool a lot," he retorted under his breath, still smiling sheepishly.

Her face fell and she ran her hand over her braid gingerly, stroking the bends and twists of her hair. "Percy, Athena has requested your return. You are too important. You have a week to decide." With that, she stood up, brushed the sand off of her dress, and headed towards the cave quietly.

**_xx—o—xx~xx—o—xx~xx—o—xx_**

Annabeth lay in her bed and dreamed.

She was sitting on a beach, pure white sand sparkling under her tennis shoes. The sun was still beaming up in the sky, warming the tear streaks on her cheeks. She couldn't move a muscle, but she didn't mind. Down by the shoreline, a delicate turtle dove was resting. Annabeth stared at it oddly, trying to decide its purpose there. The dove's wings fluttered and it began to shift into a beautiful young girl around thirteen with caramel skin and matching hair, streaked with blond. Her hair was braided and tossed over one shoulder and she wore an old Greek dress that she imagined Helen of Troy to be dressed in.

The girl stood with a dainty figure and walked the beach, heading up towards a garden, with wilting silvery flowers dipping towards the ground. Annabeth was unfamiliar with the kind. Her body moved by itself, without her control, and stood. She walked towards the garden.

The girl was tending to her flowers and paused as Annabeth approached. She inhaled deeply and turned her head only half way to the left. "Hello, heroine."

Annabeth's eyebrows scrunched together suspiciously. Her guard was up in a split second and she reached for her knife. It wasn't there. Did she know who this was? Another sorceress?

"I am," the girl said, throwing Annabeth's mind around inside her head. She was what? "A sorceress. Calypso, if you are to ask my name."

Annabeth narrowed her eyes. She had heard of the girl; innocent enough, she was punished, exiled, because her father fought for the Titans. The fates allowed heroes to visit her home from time to time to amuse her. Unfair as the ruling was, Annabeth hadn't given it much thought. But as the girl sat before her, it became mind-consuming.

Why was she here now? Why was Calypso visiting her dream?

"You know why," Calypso whispered, almost unwillingly, which was unnerving. The whole of the sorceress was unnerving; her beauty, her calm voice, just her presence.

A far off voice, appearing to be masculine, called out to someone who's name Annabeth could not decipher. The voice wasn't really there when Annabeth heard it; it was distant and far away. But something made her want to look. She began to turn around when Calypso rose and whirled on her heel, running a hand through Annabeth's image.

"My apologies," were the last words from the opposing girl.

Annabeth woke with a start in the middle of the night, tangled in her bed sheets. A book lay open on the floor, spine up. She had fallen asleep rereading her old architecture book.


	4. Chapter 4

There is something that must be understood about Calypso. She was not a jealous girl; she did not intend any harm upon anyone. She hardly wished misfortune on any of the women that her heroes had chosen over her. She simply wished them the best of luck; if a hero was willing to risk his own life for her, she was obviously worth it.

Of course, Percy was different. Because, no, he hadn't chosen this daughter of Athena over her. Yet. He had even chosen her over the world he had grown in, and though she found it flattering, it confused her. The thought of him giving up a world for her was puzzling. Percy was loyal. So why then was he being so utterly selfish?

Percy was also not one of the heroes to go breaking young girls' hearts just so he could be remembered.

He was like an old fashioned movie. Calm and collected with classy gentlemen that were loyal and kind and—usually—handsome. She often found herself admiring him.

As he slept, albeit unsoundly—odd as it were—in his four-poster king-sized bed with silk sheets she could hear his faint mumblings. A 'Holy Poseidon' here, an 'Oh crap' there. And then, the 'Annabeth's. They were few at first; not enough to stir any emotion in her; but they soon were joined by a chorus of murmurs and stifled screams. Terrible nightmares reigning in his sleeping mind's eye. She would try to hush him and lull him into a calm slumber.

Then he abruptly woke in the middle of the night, covered in sweat, his hair matted. She often sat by his bed, waiting for this, just so she could be the one to brush his hair to the side. He would stare at her intently as if she were some figment of his memory, one that no longer existed. His eyes would flutter and he would calm himself down, realizing that he was not in harm's way and he was safe on Ogygia.

The nightmares however grew gruesome and disturbing and absolutely horrid. Calypso heard mutterings of Ancient Greek curses, ones that would put his father to shame; she heard the muddles of him speaking, his voice smooth like velvet, trying to convince someone—desperately—that he was fine. And then, one night, he sat bolt upright, gasping for air.

"Percy," she hushed him. "I'm here, Percy. Nothing is going to harm you."

He turned to stare at her dead-on and the look in his eyes terrified her. It was as if some horrible nature had possessed him. They were wide and electrified; they appeared to be silently screaming for help, screaming in desperation. His face was pale as a sea washed stone, like the living dead had risen.

"They've got her," he murmured.

Calypso didn't bother to ask; she didn't want to know. The knowing of it and doing nothing to help would haunt her. The 'who' was simple. She knew very well that he cared deeply for that Annabeth girl. However, asking who got her and what they had done to her that was so horrid it sent him to place of terror was not her preference. They could solve their problems without him.

She paused. When had she become so selfish?

"Who got her?" she asked him hesitantly, trying to sit the appropriate distance from him. "What happens in your dreams?"

He shook his head, color fading into his cheeks. He then proceeded to cradle his face in his palms and knead his eyes with the balls of his hands. She watched him, kneading as if to rid himself of the vision, then shaking his head, and muttering 'no' into his jacket sleeves.

"Percy, please tell me," she urged, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes.

He sat silently. Then his voice, quiet at first. "They all start the same."

"What happens?" Calypso begged, though she didn't want to know. Percy had previously discussed the Labyrinth with her, going into detail about how he had gotten to her island, while avoiding his first kiss with Annabeth. She had taken in the information as if she had heard it all before. He was just the same old hero, from the same old stories. So it didn't surprise her when it started in the ever-changing passageways.

"She's running down the hall and… she keeps looking back," he mutters, not removing his hands from his eye sockets. "She's smiling at first. And the footsteps grow louder. And her smile's gone." She stopped smiling, and oh how he wished she didn't. He just wanted to see her keep on smiling because everything would be alright then. "And every single time, something different… something terrible… happens."

Calypso studied him silently for a short time before deciding that she would make her move. She wanted him to stay with her; she didn't wish for him to return to whence he came. She enjoyed his presence, his ever smiling presence. At night, the dreams didn't bother her; it reminded her that there were people existing away from them, and no matter how bad things were out there, they would be alright. They were the lucky ones.

Calypso eased herself to sit in front of him and gently guided his hands down to rest in his lap. He moved his eyes to hers and felt a new sense of reality. He wasn't back in the mortal world, fighting a pointless war against the Titan Kronos. He wasn't with Annabeth; he wasn't with Grover. He was with Calypso and he couldn't be harmed where he was. No, his friends were still in danger, but it couldn't rest on his shoulders. He was one kid who didn't need the entire load to bear on his own. He needed to focus on the life he was living in the now.

And when Calypso leaned in to kiss him, he didn't bother protesting.

**_xx—o—xx~xx—o—xx~xx—o—xx_**

In general, Annabeth was a suspicious person. She was judgmental and cautious and careful in planning a person's downfall. Her run-in with Calypso had been no different than it had been with any other goddess. She was respectful—as much as she could be without letting her guard drop. She didn't question motives or the reason that she was abruptly shooed when a male had come calling; she just allowed everything to happen, but she was watching Calypso's eyes.

Those eyes had made something very clear. Percy was with Calypso and he hadn't chosen to return.

She would've been quicker to not accept it, telling herself that any missing hero could have ended up with the sorceress, but she knew better. The heroes that couldn't stay, the ones that were needed, ended with Calypso. And Percy was greatly needed.

She simply pushed her theory away until she had the hard facts. Her hunch, however, was explained to Chiron immediately, who didn't surprisingly dismiss the idea immediately and order her to be set on bed rest for becoming genuinely insane and obsessed.

Annabeth had instead been reinstated and thrown, full-force, back into her quest through the Labyrinth, this time alone, seeing as her other companions had yet to return. Tyson and Grover were still wandering through the endless maze and she was to find them and join forces.

The only person who had seen the slim chances of survival was off in another world completely.

**A/N: I'm so sorry for cutting this one short, but it didn't seem necessary, having it be extremely long. I have yet to thank you all for reviewing. I really, really appreciate it and I hope you keep it up.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: To all my dear, sweet, lovingly faithful reviewers,**

**This story, effective immediately, unless decided otherwise, will be placed on HIATUS. I realize that this is against the rules, but I felt I owed you all an explanation and I hope you don't report, for this chapter will be deleted upon the continuation.**

**You may ask why I am suddenly holding off. If you would like to know, I'm writing what will probably escalade into a trilogy, but for now is a story that is like venting and revenge. **

**I know—wow, high fiving Jesus, that's really immature. When you read this story, it may help you understand, it may not.**

**My muse: my lying, but sweet, boyfriend. Humph, lying and sweet don't belong in the same sentence… Let's try this. My boyfriend's really sweet to me. However, he's a compulsive liar about what I consider to be important. Did I mention he broke a promise?**

**I bet you don't care, I wouldn't. But it's a heads up for a story that is consuming all of my thoughts. I would feel terrible writing a chapter that doesn't blend well with what's happened so far, and so I'm going to get this out of my system.**

**Thank you for your consideration and cooperation.**

**Seriously, **_**please**_** don't report because this message is only temporary.**

**My story: **_**Exposure**_**.**

**Rating: T**

**Characters: Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase**

**World: Books, AU (Alternate Universe)**

**Thanks again!**


	6. Chapter 6

It's not a general stereotype—thinking in the Labyrinth, that is. Everything is quick and rash and dangerous. Everything is instinct based and far from any logic the daughter of Athena knew. It's corrupt and hocus-pocus trickery; just what she hated. That a child of Athena could function without logic, it was beyond her. Daedalus, the old man, was far ahead of what his mind actually processed, she was nearly certain. How could he build something, engender the idea, that anyone could possibly maneuver the maze.

Her fingers glided along the left wall, as she had Percy and the others do, a back pack slung over her shoulders, and as she went her hand slipped into an empty pocket. A tunnel of pure darkness, and the light only seemed to be less existent the deeper it went. She considered turning into it off of some wild hype that it was older, but her mind scolded her. Her logic didn't work in a place such as the Labyrinth.

A snuffling, and the sound of something dragging across the ground, echoed from the tunnel and she was suddenly sure of herself. Going down that tunnel was not one of her options. She almost turned around when, off to her right, her eyes caught the faint glimmer of a light. She couldn't be sure when the tunnel had appeared, but it made no difference. She'd rather see what she was fighting, and staying where she was didn't offer her that; she couldn't see but a few inches in front of her. So she broke into a run down the tunnel.

That was stupid on her part.

The light, no matter how far she knew she had run, seemed to continually stay the same distance away, impossible to reach and yet so close. She wouldn't give up chasing it, running as far as she could. Something shuffled behind her and sent a cold shiver down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder to the solid dark and what traces of hope were wiped away.

Annabeth almost gave up, yet the Labyrinth wasn't done toying with her. A tunnel opened off to her right and she grudgingly took opportunity, swinging into it. She was breathing heavy, sweating and squinting, trying to see even a speck of something good, something worth her struggle. Her eyes roamed back to the tunnel and the darkness she had been running from flooded down the corridor, like a current of cool water, like a living creature only seconds before the tunnel closed off.

"My luck," she murmured and dropped to the floor with her back against the wall. Her hand involuntarily reached into the bag to pull her Yankees cap. She slapped it on her thigh.

She laid her head back and was disheartened when her thoughts lingered to Percy. That was her now-or-never moment and she had taken it, but it felt so late. It was too late because that moment, on Mt. Saint Helens, when everything was falling apart and she kissed him, he disappeared. She knew he had been lying. She knew it and she left him there alone.

She fingered her lower lip, pulled on it, and pinched herself just thinking of what she could possibly do to survive this trap from Hades. She was going to get out; nothing was going to stop her.

And her heroic approach: sleep.

Because every hero needed their naps more than any amount of training or testing on the field. Her eyes closed to the cold silence of the dark and she dreamed.

And in her dreams she founded a new world. It seemed she was hovering, resting among the clouds, staring down at a paradise among a sea, dappled with trees and vibrant blooms. The details of the world were a blur, which of course annoyed her to no end, and the longer she gazed the worse her vision became.

She blinked.

She ran her fists over her eyes.

She formed binoculars with her hands.

Okay, she thought. Okay. Fine; relax.

And she did; she simply rested her chin in her palms and waited. The moon rose and fell, the stars, surprisingly bright, blinked in and out of existence. Some days coated with a sea breeze, others more resembling ozone, became increasingly longer, increasingly painful and boring. Each past with blobs; coffee stains on a pristine sheet of white paper; imperfect tarnishes becoming an odd regularity. People.

As she waited—for what felt horribly similar to eternity—she could faintly distinguish the mouth of a cave, flowing curtains blanketing the entrance. The blobs, the imperfect stains would pass through the mouth's lips with a simple shove of the tongues and they would mingle. When the lighter person made a move towards its companion, they seemed distant and distracted, not welcoming with open arms.

_Annabeth_

She blinked her eyes from the single figure standing on the shore that she had been watching for—days, or was it hours?—and glanced around her metaphysical figure.

_Annabeth_

The words carried on a cool sea breeze to her ears were oddly familiar, but so, _so _distant. So lost and far-away and just so… wistful, she guessed. They were tired and wistful and just all-around full of empty emotions.

_What should I do?_

She assumed she should've known how to answer the question, what to do and how to go about getting that done. But she didn't and she sat silently, and she waited. She recognized the two figures. It hadn't honestly taken her long to realize, but when she stayed there silently observing, she understood that he was finally happy and that she had no right to take that away.

Percy was on Calypso's island.

And it couldn't have produced a stranger feeling, one she was unfamiliar with.

Could have been acceptance, or maybe defeat. But the word she felt crawl up her throat and nip at her tongue, the word she choked on…

She was _so jealous._

_Gods, I hope you're okay._

Oh, she was so sure that he was really worried about her, what with the lonely damsel of a goddess and the beauties of her haven all wrapping around his mind and clouding his vision. Yes, she would just happen to be on the top of that stupid little list of his.

She hid her face from the ghost island and ran her fingers over one silvered streak, where a burden on her shoulders became heavier and nothing made much sense than a screaming relief. But she didn't scream for fear that he'd hear her. She didn't whisper a reply like the ones coming into her head. She could take the cliché approach and drawl out a monologue of her intense and unwanted feelings, but her mouth betrayed her. When did she care for the cliché?

She glared at him; she narrowed her eyes at that careless, disgusting blotch of beautiful imperfections and ripe kind-hearted intentions. That loyal little _toad_. How could he abandon… the entire world for some mistress of flowers and peace and all things not entitled to a demigod? How could he forget—well, his mother? He hadn't thought of what she would feel upon his death.

Despicable hero.

Now she was betraying herself, because she knew somewhere that she could care more for the stake of the world; she was mad that he had abandon _her_ after she had taken charge and kissed the buffoon. Gods he was dense.

She cursed aloud, in pure English, her gaze softening. "Percy, just come home."

She woke to two strong arms wrapped around her, pulling on her shoulder, shaking her to life and she unsheathed her knife.

**A/N: hey, what do you know? I'm back. Not with long chapters, but with an update of sorts. I'm sorry about the whole 'HIATUS' issue, and that turned out to be pointless. Nothing worked out for the good and I shouldn't have bothered with dappling in subjects like that.**

**Moving on, um, credit for this chapter is mainly aimed at this song—**_**All We Are**_** by Matt Nathanson—but I found it while watching NCIS. What a surprise. **

**Oh! And I didn't take down the little author's note so that you would see this chapter update in case you were interested. I'll handle that later.**

**So… yeah. Bye.**


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